


A Proof of Love

by Wynja2007



Series: The Starlight Gemstone Series [8]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Crochet, Gen, Kilts, Parental Disapproval, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-18
Updated: 2015-05-18
Packaged: 2018-03-31 03:50:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3963337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wynja2007/pseuds/Wynja2007
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arwen confesses her love for Aragorn to her father and sets about proving her feelings as only she can...</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Proof of Love

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the April Teitho challenge 'Raiment', where it placed joint second.

‘This has got to stop!’ Elrond said, pushing aside a selection of brightly-coloured crocheted squares which had been joined together to make an improbable, impossible multihued waistcoat. ‘Erestor, try to find out what I’ve done to upset her this time!’

‘Her’ referred to Arwen, Erestor knew, and he was careful not to smile as he inclined his head in assent. Some daughters threw tantrums, some threw hair brushes, some pouted or went without their dinner; when Arwen was upset with her father, she turned to crochet, hiding a determined revengeful streak under the guise of industrious generosity. 

It generally started when Elrond misunderstood his daughter, or didn’t listen to her, or brushed her off with some excuse or other, and a series of crocheted gifts would gradually find their way to Elrond’s desk (‘I spent three weeks on this, Adar, I do hope you like it...’) offered sometimes with contrition and other times with dignity, depending on whether or not she thought she was in the wrong. These gifts generally became more and more extravagant and outrageous until, if they were not properly appreciated by the recipient, other members of the household began to find crocheted cup holders or saddlebags appearing in unexpected places. For the sake of peace, and not having an irate Balrog-slayer protesting that his blue velvet cloak had been replaced by a pink and grey granny square poncho, Elrond had taken to acting as soon as the first offerings appeared. At the moment, therefore, Elrond was her only victim, for which the rest of the household felt considerable relief, but if matters did not mend soon...

At least Elrond had learned by now that: ‘Very nice, my dear, what exactly is it?’ was not, generally, the most satisfactory of responses to Arwen’s offerings and so had managed to say what an unexpected and daring colour combination yellow and puce made together and how kind she was to spend so much time on the item.

Erestor had worked in the Last Homely House for long enough not to be fazed by any of the sometimes random tasks Elrond assigned to him, but the challenge of wheedling out of Arwen exactly what her Adar had done to offend her would be particularly taxing and meant he, in turn, could be the recipient of something hideous unless he was very careful.

‘Might I ask, my lord, can you think of any incidents? You have not inadvertently interrupted your daughter while she was enthusing about the latest batch of silks she has purchased? Or laughed at her new shoes, which she designed herself, or...?’

‘Nothing like that, no, of course not! I have been most attentive and have not once told her she wouldn’t understand something, or that she ought to run along, or anything of that nature.’

‘I see. Well, I will see what I can do.’

‘Excellent. Oh, and Erestor? We are expecting my sons home in the next day or so. And Aragorn too; the exact timing is uncertain yet...’

Clarity suddenly came to Erestor.

‘And does Arwen know about this?’

‘Yes, of course she does; Glorfindel mentioned it, although I could have wished he had not, as she has spoken of nothing else except seeing her brothers ever since, and I fear it is the one not named whom she most longs to see...’

‘Ah.’

‘But I am sure it will come to nothing; I explained to Estel thirty years ago, Erestor. I told him, he would doom her to mortality if he sought her, that he aimed too high, that such would be Arwen's opinion, also. But I cannot shake the thought that my daughter has less of an idea of her station that I had hoped...'

'On the contrary, my lord, Arwen seems to be in no doubt that she is quite the princess of Imladris,' Erestor said calmly, making Elrond laugh.

'Well, in some ways...'

'I think perhaps she has no terms of reference where humankind is concerned,' Erestor said. 'All is clear for her with her status amongst elvenkind. But she sees Estel as being distant kin, and so, perhaps, in her eyes, this negates all else.'

'Well, I will not have it, do you hear?'

'I do, of course. But it remains to be seen whether or not Arwen hears.’

'No matter what she says, no matter how many arguments she comes up with, there is nothing she can say or do to dissuade me!'

'Really, Elrond?'

'Really. There is no limit to my determination!'

'I am pleased to hear it, my lord. But are there also no limits to the number of extreme garments in crochet you are expected to wear?'

Elrond growled. 

'When Estel gets here... although I am sure it will come to naught; I sent her to Galadriel, did I not? If anyone knows how to demonstrate the dignity of the Eldar, it is she! But I wonder if we will not have another trouble brewing with Arwen, once Estel is forgot…'

Erestor took a half-step back at the use of the word ‘we’; it was not, after all, his parenting skills which had caused Arwen to be occasionally difficult…

‘There is more, my lord?’

‘You must have noticed that Glorfindel saw fit to present himself at dinner in that ridiculous kilt of his... he will be giving my daughter ideas below her station if he continues in such fashion...’

Erestor pursed his lips to hide a smile. Opinion in Imladris was divided on the subject of Lord Glorfindel and his kilt, a bright blue leather garment given to him by an admirer... well, that was how it had started. The original kilt had long since been worn down to the buckles, and the current incarnation was... Erestor thought for a moment... the fourth replacement. The Seneschal of Imladris more usually wore warrior garb – tunic and boots and leggings – but as spring began springing, Glorfindel heralded the approach of the New Year by giving his knees an airing. That he chose to wear them to dinner was a little disconcerting. Also disconcerting was the fact that not everyone seemed to object.

‘But, my lord Elrond, I have heard you expound on the subject of Arwen’s fancies before,’ Erestor said smoothly. ‘Surely it is better that Arwen be distracted by the former Lord of the House of the Golden Flower of Gondolin than by the ephemeral charms of a human, however highborn, however dear he is to you...?’

Elrond sighed. 

‘I know, my friend... but Glorfindel is a relic; he has missed too much to make him anything like Arwen’s equal; in fact, I do not believe there is anyone to whom I could safely entrust my daughter’s future...’

‘My lord, I understand completely. But is not that what fathers always say?’

*

Arwen was sitting in the garden with her workbag at her side and her current project resting in her lap, staring off into the far distance and feeling vaguely sorrowful.

Up until a few moments previously, she had been busy with her yarn and hook, birdsong around her and the sun shining on wild daffodils dancing a slender yellow gavotte around the edges of the greensward, but her mood had dimmed when the sun went behind a cloud, and everything, including her hopes for the future, seemed less bright.

Last evening’s news – that an outrider from a Ranger company had sent word to expect Aragorn, along with Elladan and Elrohir home soon – had initially cheered her, for she was very fond of her brothers... and, of course, more privately, she had been very glad to hear news of Aragorn, too... but then Adar had said perhaps it was time Arwen went to visit her grandmother again, that Lothlórien in the springtime was beautiful – and it was, of course – but Arwen had no wish to go away, not when it looked as if Aragorn was going to be home at last, and when Arwen had mentioned it was a long way to go just to look at some niphredil, her father had stared at her.

‘Nonsense!’ he had said. ‘Your grandmother would love to see you, and you can take your workbag and perhaps make something nice for your Grandfather Celeborn...’  
It was unfair, really! She had been on the point of telling him, too, that she had made her mind up, that her choice was made, her heart given, her fate decided, her troth well and truly plighted... and if Adar had not said, ‘Nonsense!’, then she would have sought him out in in the Hall of Fire and shared her secret with him that very evening...

And now instead all was turning as grey as the day around her had become.

With a sigh, she decided perhaps she should go indoors, and was preparing to put her crochet away when she heard soft steps on the gravel path and Erestor came into view. 

‘My lady,’ he said with his small, taut smile. ‘I was going to ask if you have been enjoying the sunshine but, alas, it seems I have driven it away.’

She smiled; after all, Erestor had done nothing to upset her.

‘I have been outside for at least an hour. It is perhaps time I moved.’

‘May I help with anything?’ Erestor offered.

‘Thank you; if you would just take my bag while I get up,’ she said, passing him her workbag and scrambling to her feet, ‘it would be very kind of you.’

‘Not at all.’ Erestor looked at the folded crochet on top of the bag; it was in pale and pastel shades, with bands of white in between the colours, subtle and delicate and not at all like the waistcoat with which Elrond had been presented. ‘This is beautiful work, Arwen. What is this project?’

‘One of the maids, her sister is due to have a baby soon. It is a shawl for the child.’

‘It is very kind of you.’

‘Oh, I like the work,’ Arwen said quickly. ‘It keeps my hands busy but leaves me time to think.’

‘Hmm. To judge by the quantity of yarn you have been ordering of late, my lady, one would think you have perhaps too many thoughts... I hope nothing is amiss?’

Arwen sighed and headed back towards the house taking, Erestor noted, the long path.

‘My father has – most kindly, I am sure – suggested a visit for me to my Lothlórien kin again. But I have only just come back, it seems, and I have no wish to be away from home, at the moment.’

Oh, was that all? Wait, no, there had to be more to this... Elrond had mooted the trip only last evening, and yet this morning, after breakfast, he had received the startling waistcoat... Arwen could not have created the garment from scratch, even had she sat up all night. So it must already have been almost complete and therefore the waistcoat must have been created not as a revenge-gift, but a gift of contrition, and yet there was nothing for which Arwen needed to be contrite at the moment. Not that Erestor knew of, that was.

Therefore there must be something on her mind, something Elrond did not yet know about...

‘The weather can still be quite changeable at this time of year; perhaps you should defer, at least until after the New Year celebrations. You would not wish to be travelling at such a time.’

She cast him a grateful glance.

‘No, indeed, it would make much more sense, if I were to visit, to plan my journey so that I would arrive there shortly before Midsummer... and besides, I have not seen ...Elladan and Elrohir for such a long time!’

Erestor noted the pause before Arwen named her brothers. Aragorn, then. He had wondered whether something like this might happen. Not that it was any of his business, excepting for how Elrond would govern Imladris whilst being apoplectic and crochet-clad; for all Erestor was a solitary figure, he was a firm believer that the fëa wants what the fëa wants and there is generally nothing to do but to permit it free rein, and if Arwen wanted to spend herself on a brief, bright mortal love, then it was not his place to judge. 

Since he was likely the one who would have to pick up the pieces of Elrond’s shattered hopes, however, he did feel he had some right to be kept properly informed.

‘Forgive me if this seems impertinent, my lady – I have no wish to pry – but can it be that you have developed feelings for Estel – Aragorn, as he now is?’

A guilty, stricken expression fleeted across Arwen’s face and she stopped walking and turned to her father’s advisor, laying an impetuous hand on his arm.

‘Erestor, dear friend... can I trust you?’

‘I hope so, my lady. Many others seem to find they can, and I will certainly honour any confidence you choose to share with me. ‘

‘Well... it began... Oh, but it feels like it has always been...! When I was last in Lothlórien... but before then, three decades before, here in Imladris, I was walking and... and I might have been singing a bit, or dancing...oh, you know, sometimes I love the feel of the grass and... Well, that is beside the point, anyway, I heard someone singing the Lay of Leithian, and then when I turned, the singer called out ‘Tinúviel,’ and it was Estel... We chatted, for a bit... I thought he was nice, a bit... human, but... anyway, he went off somewhere and I didn’t see him again for decades. I’d sort of forgotten him.’

‘Indeed?’

‘Mostly. And it seemed Lindir gave a lot of songs about how humans and elvenkind only came to grief when they came together and Father would nod... so perhaps...’  
Yes. Now he came to think of it, Estel sent off into the wild, and suddenly there had been a lot of dire warnings passed on, some more subtly than others, in Arwen’s hearing... 

‘And then I went to visit with Grandmother,’ Arwen continued, ‘and... and suddenly, there he was! Estel! Aragorn, that is... Grandmother brought him over, and he was dressed in silver and white – I think she must have lent him something of Grandfather’s... and he looked amazing! He was more like an Elvenlord than a man... and I remembered, all in a rush, and I wondered how I’d been so silly as to forget him and...’

She broke off and sighed, staring into some place of happy memory and if Erestor could have done so unnoticed, he would have banged his head against the nearest tree... what Galadriel had been playing at, he could only guess, but she seemed to have thought Aragorn far more suitable for Arwen than Elrond had... and, he acknowledged, it really was amazing how well the Ranger, with all his travel stains and unruly facial hair did scrub up, when he had a reason to. Ai, Erestor could picture the scene, Aragorn, no longer young and untried, looking like a child next to Arwen, but a man come into his maturity, draped in Celeborn’s second-best robes and probably with a crystal on his brow – Galadriel was fond of tiaras... Arwen would not have stood a chance...

‘And, dear child?’ Erestor prompted. Better have the whole story now so he could let Elrond know what he was up against.

‘And I just knew it was right... so before he left, we plighted our troth; I knew all would be well, that he would triumph and we would endure beyond the Shadow of the East... and then I realised what it meant, that... that I must leave you all behind, or you must leave me, rather. But surely, for love, one can brave so much?’

‘I could not say,’ Erestor replied softly. ‘But come; if Aragorn is coming home, and you are betrothed now, you really must tell your father before he gets here.’

She sighed.

‘You are right, I suppose. But, Erestor... will you... would you come with me?’

‘Of course I will. Shall we go now?’

‘Soon... I will take my work back to my room and then... then meet you in Father’s study? Could you... maybe... prepare him a little?’

Erestor made himself smile.

‘I will see what I can do,’ he said.

*

‘You want me to what?’ Elrond demanded, his eyebrows moving so far from his eyes as to cause his whole face to ache.

‘I merely suggest, my lord, that you don your new waistcoat for the interview with Arwen. It will reassure her, for she is quite anxious with regards to something she wishes to share with you.’

‘I am not entirely sure I like the sound of that!’

And Erestor was not entirely sure he was going to enjoy explaining... but if he must do so, the sight of Elrond in his multihued and vile waistcoat would bring him hours of private solace later on.

Erestor put his best I-am-waiting expression on his face. ‘And she will be here soon, my lord...’

To Erestor’s vast enjoyment, the waistcoat fitted perfectly and made a startling contrast to Elrond’s sombre maroon robes – except for the puce squares, with which it matched delightfully.

‘All right! Now; out with it! What is all this about.’

‘I think it is fair to say it is largely Galadriel’s fault, my lord. Perhaps sending Arwen to visit with her again would not be such a good idea...’

‘Oh? Why? What’s been going on? Not... not one of the Galadhrim...?’

A tapping at the door and Arwen pouted her way into the room.

‘Adar, I... Oh, it fits! I am pleased!’

‘Indeed, Arwen,’ Erestor said, holding out a chair for her. ‘It is quite a triumph!’

‘Oh, do you think so? Because I would be happy to make one for you, also...’

Elrond smirked, but Erestor was ready with a reply.

‘My lady, you are too kind! But while such a garment is fitting for the Lord of Imladris, it is far too superior for a mere advisor... my dear, I have not had chance yet to broach the subject to your father, but do not worry!’

‘No, it is fine... Oh, Adar, be happy! For I have found my soulmate! And we have plighted our troth, and Grandmother says it will all be lovely, and not to have a fit because she has seen...’

‘And...?’

‘Estel.’ Arwen clasped her hands beneath her bosom, her entire body thrumming with emotion. ‘Aragorn. We met long ago here but it was in Lothlórien and... and indeed, I love him, father...’

Elrond forced his face into a semblance of a smile; he could see, at least, how difficult it had been for Arwen to speak out, how genuinely she believed she felt for her swain... Ai, but when he caught up with Galadriel...

‘I am grateful to you for sharing this news with me, my dear. I see why you have no wish to be from home, under the circumstances; this will be quite the reunion for you... Perhaps you would not mind, now, leaving me to work for a little while so that I may take in this wonderful news?’

‘I will walk you to your rooms,’ Erestor said hastily, holding the door and extracting himself from the room in as swiftly as dignity would allow.

Arwen was silent all the way to her rooms before giving herself a little shake and smiling at the advisor.

‘Well, that went well,’ she said.

*  
The expected travellers didn’t get back until the early hours of the morning, so that it wasn’t until breakfast in the Great Hall next day that Arwen caught sight of her brothers, and her beloved, once more. Also present were Glorfindel’s knees for, in an abrupt turn of face, Elrond had suggested to Erestor that perhaps the kilt wasn’t such a bad idea after all, especially if it distracted Arwen from her human admirer, and would Erestor please to mention it to the seneschal... and she certainly did seem to be paying particular attention to the Balrog Slayer’s raiment that morning.

Elrond smiled to himself. A betrothal was a betrothal, but until vows were taken or intimacy ensued, it was reversible. And he was pretty sure he could prevent any intimacy under his own roof...

Rising from the table, he nodded to Estel in a deceptively friendly way.

‘I would like to have speech with you, if you are not busy,’ he said. ‘It will not take long.’

As they walked towards his study, talking lightly, Elrond considered and cast aside phrases as soon as they occurred to him: ‘How could you...?’ No, too dramatic... ‘What were you thinking...?’ Too accusatory... ‘Who, in the name of all the Valar, do you think you are to be getting betrothed to my daughter...?’ Pretty much covered it, but...

‘Welcome home,’ Elrond said, indicating a chair. 

Before he took his own seat, he had first to remove the crocheted waistcoat from where he had abandoned it as soon as Arwen had left his study the day before. He saw Estel staring, and winged his eyebrow up.

‘A present from my daughter.’

‘Ah. Her tension has improved.’

Elrond favoured his foster-son with a closed-lipped smile.

‘It is Arwen about whom I wished to speak,’ he said. ‘My daughter has recently confided in me that in you she has found her doom...’

‘That isn’t quite how I would have put it,’ Estel protested.

‘But, my son, years come when hope will fade...’ Elrond began. He rose from his desk and folded his hands together behind his back, meandering around his study and pontificating on the difficulties ahead and why Aragorn should back away from his daughter. ‘...Life’s grace...’

Aragorn’s eyes lit on the waistcoat. Obviously, Arwen had worked hard on it, chosen the colours with care to some strange set of principles known only to herself. It was adorable that she should work so hard on a gift for her father...

‘...Doom of Men... at the end...’ Elrond finally finished his harangue. ‘Estel? Are you listening to me?’

Aragorn blinked and looked all blue-eyed innocence.

‘Yes; you won’t give Arwen up unless I can prove myself worthy of her and strong enough to protect her, and I’m not good enough for her and never shall be.’ He gave his rogue’s smile. ‘On that, I agree with you. But I lover her.’

‘I do not doubt that you believe that, Estel. But the love of humankind is brief and fleeting, and however true your heart it is not how Elvenkind loves; I can hear it in your voice but I cannot read it in your eyes. And I am her father; my love for her does not admit of a doubt. The subject is closed. You will have a journey to prepare for soon, so you had better spend some time with your mother. While you still can.’

*

‘He will send him away again, I know it!’ Arwen exclaimed in low tones, wringing her hands.

Erestor listened in mute sympathy. Arwen now treated him as a confidant, so that every time a thought occurred to her concerning Estel, or her father, or Estel and her father, she shared it with him, and he was rapidly running out of patience.

‘Have you considered you are, perhaps, a little distressed?’ he asked gently.

‘Distressed? Distressed?’ Arwen’s normally musical voice teetered on the brink of a screech. ‘I am distraught... and Adar is being so... so First Age about everything, thinking he can determine my future, as I were a mere chattel to be disposed of as he pleases! And he will send Estel into danger and then what will happen?’

‘According to your grandmother, wonderful things; did you not say so to me?’ Erestor smiled reassuringly. ‘Why not start another project? Maybe your brothers would like something?’

Inspiration seemed to dawn suddenly and Arwen’s eyes cleared again. 

‘Or I could make something for Estel! Yes, every time I make a gift for Adar he says how much it shows I love him... and I think, perhaps, he does not quite believe I love Estel, so, if I make something splendid for him, then Adar must see that I am in love; since Father will not believe my words, perhaps he will believe the work of my hands... Is this a good plan? Do you think so, Erestor?’

The advisor took a moment to marvel at Elrond’s daughter. Until now he had really believed that almost all of her crochet work was ironic – gifts for her father she must surely know he would hate... and yet it seemed otherwise, that she genuinely believed her work was gratefully received... perhaps all the revenge Erestor had seen in the gifts was subconscious on her part after all. But, since it seemed a plan likely to get Arwen out from under his feet for at least several hours a day, Erestor agreed it was an excellent idea indeed.

‘A proof of your love, as only you can make it! Arwen, it is a most wonderful notion. Do you have all you need? Shall I ask someone to dye a sheep for you, perhaps?’

This made her giggle.

‘Oh, Erestor, don’t be silly! I need at least six colours, and the sheep would not stand still long enough!’

*

Over the next few days Arwen was hardly seen around the Last Homely House except at meal times and for the odd hour in the Hall of Fire. When the sun was shining, she could sometimes be found in the gardens, a large piece of crochet on her lap. If this was the proposed love gift, though, Erestor mused, it was unlike anything he had seen her work before. She was using two strands of yarn together, and often stopped to change the colour of one or other of the strands, so the result was a dense, thick fabric with a soft flow of colour changes. It was a mighty project, too; Erestor wondered if Arwen might be making a blanket for her sweetheart. Or possibly a campaign tent....

Curiosity getting the better of him, he joined her one afternoon, sitting next to her on the bench and giving her his small smile.

‘How quickly your work grows! And it is most unusual mixture of tones, but very attractive.’

She dimpled at the compliment.

‘This is but a part of it. You see, I wanted to use all the colours that would support his spirit in the long days ahead. So there is red, to remind him of his power, and green, for healing, and yellow, just to cheer his heart, and pink... but I wanted them all to flow together so nothing is separate. But it has to be practical, too, and these colours will quickly show the dirt of travel, so this is but the lining.’

‘Ah. An intensive project, then? It is to be hoped that Aragorn does not leave too quickly.’

‘Indeed, and I am most worried! I know Father will not want to seem as if he is sending him away, but fear that he will... if there is anything you could do, Erestor...?’

‘Such as suggest Glorfindel wound Estel during sparring practice so that he must remain here and heal?’

‘Oh, that is a little extreme, I think... And besides, Aragorn would always win!’

‘A joke, my lady, just a joke. But it could be pointed out to your father that if he sends Aragorn away now, you will pine all the more for him, and might think less well of your Adar for doing so...’

‘Erestor! That is a very clever idea!’ She smiled happily and returned to her work. ‘I am hoping to finish the lining today and begin on the outer part soon; I will need at least three more days...’

It being, to Erestor’s mind, rather unlikely that Elrond would swallow the idea he had just mooted to Arwen, the advisor settled on a different approach and one he durst not mention to Arwen, for it was bound to hurt her feelings. Receiving a summons from Elrond that very afternoon, he bowed and presented himself to hear a tirade on ungrateful daughters, vipers in bosoms, disrespectful mothers-in-law and how hard it was to be an Elrond in these circumstances.

‘I want Estel gone as quickly as possible! Find somewhere far away and hard to return from!’

No doubt, had there been any silmarills left in Middle Earth to be retrieved from iron crowns, Elrond would have suggested Aragorn run along and fetch them, but those days were done...

‘Far be it from me to tell you what to do, my lord,’ Erestor began, althoufh such had been his life’s work for far too long already, ‘but do you not think it would be wise to a few days considering an appropriate quest? I have it on good authority that Arwen is making a gift for Estel, and it will be some time before it is finished. It might be pertinent to await the presentation as there is always the possibility it will help both parties find clarity in their current condition of emotional upheaval...’

It took Elrond a moment or two before he realised exactly what was being proposed here. On finally grasping the salient points, he smiled in relief.

‘Ah, it is perfect! Aragorn will see himself with a lifetime of crocheted cushions ahead, and Arwen will realise that he is not as appreciative of her talents as he should be! It is quite, quite, perfect!’

Erestor smiled his small, tight smile and refrained from commenting that of course it was; it had been his idea.

During the course of the next few days, the would-be lovers met only at meals in the Great Hall or in the Hall of Fire during the evenings; watching, Erestor was uncertain whether this was coincidental, or deliberate and, if deliberate, whose machinations had arranged it. He hoped it was merely happenstance; Arwen was working hard on her crochet, Aragorn spending time in his mother’s lodgings, and Elrond glad to see a semblance of obedience to his orders that the two put each other out of their minds.

Minds? Perhaps, for the occasional moment, Erestor mused. Hearts? No. At least, not Arwen’s.

Some of her behaviour was, perhaps, a little odd; although generally polite and friendly, on good terms will all the household, Arwen had not really made friends of any. In fact, Erestor had been genuinely startled to be taken into her confidence... But it puzzled him that she had started paying more notice to Lord Glorfindel, occasionally approaching him and speaking earnestly in low, even-to-elven-hearing -too-quiet-to-overhear tones. And when Erestor asked if Arwen was, perhaps, being a nuisance, Glorfindel simply smiled, his too-blue eyes twinkling.

‘You and I, Erestor, we are both in the lady’s confidence, it seems. But I am sworn to secrecy. Worry not; she is not up to mischief, I assure you.’

‘But then what?’ Erestor had asked, and Glorfindel had laughed softly.

‘Well, my lord Elrond need not fear she has taken one of her likings to me, if that is the worry. Let us say it is more in the nature of... technical advice...’

‘May the Valar defend us! She is not asking for sword lessons again, is she?’

‘No, mellon-nin, it is nothing like that! But... well, you will see presently. Until then, I have said enough.’

Which did not stop Erestor seeking to find out... When he was unable to discover anything by discreet listening, or by subtle questions, he determined to ask Arwen outright what was going on.

‘For you assure me that your heart is Estel’s, and yet your attention is all on Glorfindel. Is this a ploy, my lady, to put your honoured father off the scent? Or do you hope to increase Estel’s affection by jealousy, perhaps?’

She giggled.

‘Oh, no, neither of those things! Although if Father thought I liked Glorfindel... I don’t know, but I cannot see he would like that any better. Glorfindel is a sweetheart, a pussycat, but he is simply helping me with something.’

And while Erestor was still reeling at hearing the famed Balrog Slayer, the scourge of ancient evil, described as a pussycat, Arwen had gathered her skirts and danced away, saying something about a matter she had to attend to before dinner.

Since dinner was a good hour away, and since Arwen appeared to be in excellent spirits, Erestor guessed there was rather more happening than Erond’s daughter scrambling into a beaded gown, and so, being a good advisor and not one to waste an opportunity, he followed her.

Wearing black had its advantages. By keeping to the shadows, Erestor avoided detection all the way to Arwen’s rooms. She was only inside for a moment, darting out again with a substantial and beribboned package in her arms and making her way to the corridor where Glorfindel kept his rooms; Erestor slid behind a tapestry and listened to what ensued once Arwen had tapped on the Balrog Slayer’s door.

‘Glorfindel, it is I!’

The door cracked open.

‘What, you’re ready? Now?’

‘Well, I thought it might take a little time to sort it out... you are most kind, Glorfindel, you truly are a friend of True Love...’

‘Ai, and there was I, thinking you had promised me a bottle of honey beer from the brewery in the vale for my services! Come, give it here... are you coming with me to deliver the gift?’

‘Oh, I could not... it will be known it is from me anyway... please, Glorfindel, do not let me down!’

Erestor waited for Arwen’s footsteps to patter away and then slid out from behind the sheltering tapestry, only to find Glorfindel lounging against the opposite wall, the package tucked unceremoniously under his arm.

‘Well met, my friend,’ the Balrog Slayer said. ‘I suppose either I invite you to come along, or you will follow anyway?’

Unabashed, Erestor inclined his head.

‘As you said earlier, we are both in the lady’s confidence... Do you understand the nature of my work, my lord?’ he asked, falling into step beside Glorfindel.

‘I understand we are both often put upon, and that we are both very good at our jobs, Master Erestor,’ the seneschal said. ‘And that there is usually a good reason for all you do... even if that does entail you following members of the household...’

‘I am only as effective as my information. The running of this house is a delicate balancing act and matters at present are particularly fraught...’

Glorfindel shifted his hold on the bundle and eyed Erestor thoughtfully.

‘Yes, there is undoubtedly an atmosphere... but...?’

‘Elrond has expressed surprise at Arwen’s sudden interest in you. I simply wish to make sure all is well – and assure you, I do not doubt your intentions, my friend; besides, Arwen tells me you are... a sweetheart and a pussycat...’

Glorfindel, diverted, laughed.

‘But I happen to know Arwen is also interested in another party, and if that party thought she was looking at you, it might hurt his feelings, perhaps, or cause misunderstanding...’

It wasn’t quite true; Erestor had followed from simple curiosity, but Glorfindel did not protest.

‘Well, it’s meant to be a secret between Arwen and I... so when we get there, I would be glad if you would do that thing you do, where you blend into the tapestries...’

‘Agreed.’

They passed quietly through the corridors towards the quiet wing where Lady Gilraen stayed on those occasions when she spent time at Imladris. Erestor smiled suddenly.

‘It is the love-token Arwen has made for Estel, is it not? Has she requested you to deliver it?’

Glorfindel grinned.

‘Indeed, and it is a wonder to behold, by far her best notion yet, a complete masterpiece! I am providing... technical assistance, as it were, as well as being Arwen’s delivery service.’ 

When they arrived outside Mistress Gilraen’s rooms, Erestor hid out of sight around the corner and listened as Glorfindel was invited in. By pressing the side of his face against the wall, Erestor was able to hear the conversation inside.

‘A moment, my lord; I will call him. Aragorn? Aragorn, Glorfindel is here for you...’

‘Glorfindel? I am glad to see you, my friend...’

‘I have a gift for you; not from me, I hasten to add... is there somewhere private?’

‘Private? Why would we need privacy?’

‘You will see.’

Erestor could almost hear Glorfindel’s smile, Gilraen’s disapproval. Regrettably, wherever Estel had led Glorfindel was now out of range of even his hearing, and he waited impatiently...

He did not have to wait too long.

The quiet of the outside corridors was suddenly breached by a shriek, and Erestor recognised Gilraen’s normally staid tones, distorted by outrage. But at least he no longer had to strain to hear...

‘What is that thing you are wearing? It is hideous! Take it off at once! Not in here! Go and change!’

‘Mother, no; it is perfectly fine...’

‘It is vile! And... and you are exposing your lower limbs!’

‘But, Lady Arwen made this for me! She must have spent days...’

‘I do not care. Put your leggings back on. At Once...’

‘Mother, you know I do not wish to be at odds with you, but in this instance...’

‘And you there, my Lord Balrog Slayer! What are you grinning about? I thank you for the honour of your visit, but you may leave...’

‘Mother, Glorfindel wears one of these... tell her, please, my friend?’

‘In fact, my lady Gilraen, it is a comfortable and a most proper garment for this season of the year and...’

‘I do not care if Glorfindel wears one, Glorfindel has Firstborn knees and they are fit to be seen. Whereas you, my son, you look like... like... as if your shins are made of milk! Except that you are too hirsute and the overall effect...’

Erestor longed to be able to see into the room, but there was no need; the door opened and first Glorfindel, and then Estel emerged, in some haste. Glorfindel glanced towards Erestor’s corner and winked behind Estel’s back as Erestor took in the triumph that was Arwen’s love token.

She had crocheted him a kilt.

The lining Erestor had seen her working on was, of course, hidden, and the top layer worked in a mixture of browns and greens, greys and dark blues with an occasional horizontal or vertical line of brighter green making a twill plaid effect, the whole pleated at the back and buckled into place at the side by twin fastenings.

And it had to be said, Lady Gilraen did have a point; while Glorfindel’s lower limbs were as golden as the rest of him, his calves well-defined and his knees properly sturdy, Glorfindel, of course, had thought ahead, and his blue leather kilt was teamed with tan leather sandals.

Aragorn, alas, did indeed have hirsute legs, and his skin was pale, and he perhaps had not given thought to whether he would not be better with long riding boots than his ankle-high all-terrain walking boots and his everyday foot hose rumpled about his ankles...

Gilraen emerged, her voice loud and still sharp-edged.

‘Aragorn? Where do you think you are going?’

‘To sit with Glorfindel until it is time for dinner.’

‘Dinner? You cannot possibly go to dinner dressed like that!’

‘I am sorry, mother, but I am; this was a gift from Lady Arwen, and if I do not wear it, her feelings would be hurt...’

‘And what about a mother’s feelings? Oh, how can you disrespect Lord Elrond’s hall like this?’

‘Mother, if it is a choice between disrespecting Lord Elrond’s hall and disrespecting his daughter, then of course I will choose the hall...’

For the sake of quiet in the corridors, Erestor thought it would be a good idea if he made his presence known at this point, although the idea of hearing Aragorn chased through the corridors declaring his love for Arwen in the face of his mother’s disapproval was oddly appealing; Gilraen rarely lost her temper and had never before, to Erestor’s knowledge, raised her voice.

Making it look as if he had merely been walking down the corridor where he lurked, he strode down the passage with louder-than usual steps, and Gilraen fell silent.

‘My lady, good evening.’ Erestor said politely. ‘Are you quite well?’

‘My lord Erestor. I was... debating the rules on dress for the hall with my son.’

‘Indeed?’

‘For I would not wish Lord Elrond to disapprove, not after he has been so generous to us...’

‘Why do you not join us in the Great Hall, my lady, and then you can see how our lord responds to your son’s interesting choice of raiment?’

‘Oh, I... do not feel like socialising this night. Would you happen to know if Lord Elrond is busy at present...?

‘He normally spends this time before dinner quietly in his study; if there were a matter you felt you needed to bring to his attention, however, I would be glad to assist...?’

‘Oh, that will not be necessary,’ she said hastily. ‘Good evening to you, my lord.’

Glorfindel – and hence Estel – had halted at the sound of Erestor’s voice. After Gilraen had shut herself back in her rooms, Glorfindel tipped his head, an invitation for  
Erestor to join them.

‘Estel, good evening. Did I hear aright, the kilt was a gift?’

‘From Lady Arwen...’

‘Ah, so that is what she has been working on so assiduously of late... it is very fine work.’

‘You probably heard, my mother does not quite appreciate it the same way I do.’

Erestor tipped his head, considering.

‘But the Lady Arwen did not make it for your mother, Estel. What is the problem?’

Estel laughed and Glorfindel nodded.

‘Indeed, mellon-nin, that is a fair point!’ the seneschal said. ‘And I think, if we hasten, there will be time for a glass of wine before the dinner bell rings...’

*

A gentle, urgent tapping at his study door disturbed Elrond from his pre-dinner meditations. He sat up swiftly, gave himself a little shake, and called his visitor to enter.

‘Lady Gilraen! This is an unexpected pleasure... I hope you have been enjoying time with your son whilst he is with us?’

‘My lord, I was indeed... until this afternoon...’

‘Oh? Forgive me, you appear distressed... please, be seated... perhaps you can tell me what’s troubling you?’

‘It is... I have come to apologise, my lord, concerning Aragorn’s appearance. He... he has been given an item of clothing and he intends wearing it to dinner in the Great Hall and it really is not quite appropriate...’

‘I see... or rather, I do not, quite see...?’

‘It was a gift, my lord, and he says not to wear it would hurt the feelings of the one who made it for him; it is, he says, a labour of... of love, and...’

‘I think I see.’ Elrond gave his friendliest smile and rummaged in the lowest drawer of his desk to where the dreadful waistcoat had been relegated. ‘I gather Arwen has been busy again?’

Gilraen nodded with grave dignity.

‘Well, I am sure whatever it is, it cannot be worse than this,’ he said, holding up the garment.

The lady stifled a semi-hysterical giggle in her throat. When she recovered, she did not know whether she was shaking her head or nodding.

‘My lord, I would say... the colours are more tasteful, but the design... is not...’

‘And Estel is wearing it?’

Gilraen nodded.

‘In spite of all I can say on the matter. I told him, it was disrespectful of your halls, my lord, and he said, better your halls, than to disrespect Lady Arwen...’

‘Now, this I must see!’ Elrond exclaimed. ‘And, I assure you, my lady, there is no need to apologise; it sounds as if this is quite my daughter’s fault.’

*

When Estel in his new finery entered the Great hall there was silence for a moment before everyone began staring. Elladan and Elrohir openly grinned. Erestor emanated disapproval of those who were behaving so discourteously as to smirk and whisper. Only Glorfindel seemed at ease as Aragorn glared defiance at the twins.

‘Oh, you are wearing it!’

Arwen paused on the threshold, every inch of her elegant body vibrating with delight, her eyes glorious, and she rushed forward with the happiest smile in the world on her face. Unthinking, she threw herself at Aragorn, who caught her in his arms in a more than friendly hug just as Elrond arrived and stood drinking in the sight.

‘Thank you, it is wonderful!’ Estel exclaimed. ‘I love it! You must have put so much work into it! And the colours of the lining are delightful.’

‘Oh, I am so glad...’

And then he kissed her.

There is an understanding that at moments such as this, time stands still, the world falls away, and music fills the air. As it was, the only thing that could be heard was Elrond’s jaw dropping and his hear tearing as he took in every detail before him; the pretender to the Reunited Kingdoms of Arnor and Gondor, resplendent in an above-the-knee crocheted sack in dark shades, eyes closed as he took liberties with Elrond’s beloved daughter... said daughter having the temerity to permit these liberties and, indeed, kiss Estel back... and the undoubted air of love and tenderness that could simply not be ignored...

Well, if Estel was prepared to come to table looking like that, he really must love her...

Elrond sighed, bowing to the inevitable.

He cleared his throat and the two broke apart. But Arwen looked happier than Elrond had ever seen her, and there was a light in Estel’s eyes that made him feel vaguely ashamed for trying to prevent their romance.

...Still, just because he might have to give up his daughter’s heart did not mean he would have to give up all enjoyment in the evening... sometimes, as he knew to his cost, the dyes used for the stronger hues in Arwen’s yarns could cause skin irritations and while this was not a problem for Elvenkind, who could disregard such matters with no ill-effects, his own human heritage meant that close contact between his skin and Arwen’s crochet was not a good idea... 

And he did wonder whether Estel would have similar sensitivities...

‘If you two have quite finished, I think they are waiting to serve the dinner,’ he said.

The hall relaxed and everyone hurried to their places, relieved that Elrond had not flown into one of his rages. Perhaps it was only Erestor who noticed the glint in his lord’s eye, and put himself on heightened alert throughout the meal.

But it seemed that Elrond was trying to be on his best behaviour. He engaged both Arwen and Aragorn in conversation on general topics and was genial and benign. Even so, Erestor noted that Estel began shifting uneasily in his seat, as if anxious... no, that was not it... then what...?

‘Arwen, my dear, why do you not tell us all about the wonderful garment you have made for Estel? He might like to know where you got the idea from.’

‘For the kilt, Father? Well, you have seen Lord Glorfindel’s, of course...’

‘Of course,’ Estel assented, wriggling slightly as the itch started to burn and wishing he had not followed all Glorfindel’s advice on what else should, or should not, be worn with a kilt...

‘It is Silvan in origin; the elves of Mirkwood wear them, at times. Especially for traditional displays... I was once fortunate enough to see King Thranduil’s bodyguards dressed in their ceremonial kilts, it was a sight I have never forgotten...’

‘If I recall aright, my dear,’ Elrond said, ‘did not they wear leggings beneath the kilts?’

‘Oh, that is right...! I forget why, now...’

Erestor, who had also been present at the time, remembered why; it had simply been because there were ladies present... but before he could say something to that effect, Elrond had jumped back in to the conversation.

‘Perhaps for the cooler weather, I assume,’ he said, even though he knew that elves were not prey to the cold as he, with his mixed ancestry, was; he assumed Arwen, too, would not query the matter. ‘In fact, perhaps... I do not know, is it possible to crochet leggings to go with this wonderful kilt, for the colder weather...?’

‘That would be far too kind.’ Estel said hastily. ‘Besides, such a wonderful gift as this, it must surely be kept only for the most special of occasions...’

‘Oh... it sounded like such a good idea!’ Arwen said. ‘I have never made leggings in crochet before; it would have been quite a challenge...’

‘Then perhaps you could make some for your father,’ Estel said through politely-gritted teeth.

Elrond heard muted giggles from his other side where his sons were trying to contain their laughter at the mental image this produced.

‘Or for your brothers,’ he said.

‘Oh, I would love to,’ Arwen said. ‘Well, if you let me know what colours you would like, I will see what I can do.’

The meal ended and Estel got to his feet with a sigh of relief and followed Elrond and Arwen through to the Hall of Fire; standing reduced contact with the scratchy wool and relieved the itch a little, although he felt rather delicate still.

*

Presently, Elrond left the Hall, returning a few minutes later and heading casually over to where Aragorn was trying to look insouciant as he stood leaning just his shoulders against one of the pillars.

‘I have something for you, Estel. Hold out your hand.’

Estel closed his hand around a small ceramic pot.

‘Thank you... what is it?’

‘Salve. I saw you fidgeting all through dinner; it is a guess, but somewhere in your garment there is a bright blue yarn...?’

‘The lining...’

Elrond nodded.

‘There is something in the dyes... you will be more comfortable by morning. And I have been thinking about what I said earlier. That I could not see the love in your eyes for my daughter. Well, I saw it tonight, Estel. And so, I will give you something else as well; my blessing, if you succeed with all you must do.’

‘My lord?’

Elrond gave a smile that almost broke his heart.

‘I may not dance at my daughter’s wedding, Estel, but I will be there to witness it. Now, if you will excuse me, I must go and tell my daughter to make matching pairs of leggings for my sons. In bright blue, I think...’

Arwen came over.

‘You look suddenly much happier, Estel. What did my father say?’

Estel smiled.

‘Basically, he said yes. Oh there is the matter of first defeating the long shadow, driving back evil, reuniting the kingdoms of Arnor and Gondor but at the moment, I feel I could do anything!’

Arwen sighed happily.

‘Yes, that is the thing about a kilt. It is such a brave thing to wear it cannot help but give one confidence... when shall it be, do think? I rather like the idea of a summer wedding...’

‘A summer wedding would be delightful,’ Estel said. ‘But perhaps not this year.’

Arwen nodded and cuddled in. After all, she was mostly an elf; she wasn’t as patient, perhaps, as she should be but... still, she could wait.

And besides, it would give her time to crochet wedding garments. Matching ones...


End file.
